


A Noble Affair

by Imaginariet



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-09 10:04:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaginariet/pseuds/Imaginariet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Alistair and Vada Tabris do a little sexy canoodling at a Royal Party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Noble Affair

“What would you say if I told you I’m hard right now?”

Jumping and coughing to cover a squeak, Vada turned her face a fraction to come eye-to-eye with Alistair, red-cheeked and glinty-eyed and grinning impishly.

“ _Alistair_ ,” she scolded quietly. A room like this was not a place to be so close to her, surrounded by rancorous nobles with their keen, hawk eyes always scanning, anticipating the next mishap that would bring a fragment of feeling back to their empty, shallow lives. Regardless, the heat of his chest radiated on her back, tangible enough it was a sensation on her skin akin to a touch; his breath tickled the hair next to her delicate ears. His chuckling rumbled close to her.

“You worry too much, love,” he whispered, but stood up no less and stepped to her side, casting stern glances at a couple clusters of noble folk whom he caught staring.

He made no secret of his desire; to him, it was nothing to hide. He was helplessly in love with an astonishing woman – a Heroine, slayer of dragons, conqueror of tyrants, rescuer of the poor, and a voice to those who had none; brave when she must, but her own keen understanding of the nature of people was her downfall. It gave her doubt when she needed none – or so he felt, and would defend that belief with his last precious breath, but her leadership saved their lives. Perhaps she truly knew better than he.

Who was he anyway, but symbol wrapped in King’s armor?

His wife, a waifish daughter of a mid-ranking noble, stood amidst a gaggle of men fawning over her, sipping wine and twirling circles in her washy blonde hair with a saccharine grin slathered on her face and no mind paid to him. He preferred it this way; for all her faults, she was no fool. The situation was made entirely clear for her: she would present as the ever-dutiful Queen, sweet and kind, a woman of the people – but she meant as little to the Throne as she did to him. She would give him an heir and smile for the crowds, but in their private lives they would be fully and completely separate.

If he was to be honest, he didn’t know whom he found more appalling: himself for suggesting it or her for agreeing.

A glance to his left at the tiny little thing that barely came to his shoulder melted away all contempt and reminded him why he approached her to begin with. He nudged her arm and offered her one of the cups in his hands.

“Wine, my dear?” She took the goblet from his hand with both of hers and sipped, staring at him from over the brim. He looked ahead, smirking, and drew a sip from his own cup. “What?” he asked finally, hot under the stare that still lingered. She smiled shyly, a mischievous glitter in her eyes.

“Are you really?”

He laughed aloud and took another drink. “Am I what, exactly? Alistair? King? Barking mad? Dashingly handsome? Embarrassingly inebriated?...”

“Oh, _please_ don’t make me say it right now…”

He laughed again. “Oh, but do explain, my lady.” He grinned at the frustrated flush in her cheeks. “I’m afraid I haven’t a clue what you’re on about. Am I… formerly a Templar? A royal bastard? A hopeless lamppost licker?”

“ _Hard!”_ she growled, louder than she’d have liked; the flush bloomed over her neck and chest when a serving girl just a little taller than she almost dropped a silver tray of filled wine goblets as she passed. “Hard,” she repeated, quieter, trying to daintily soak up a rivulet of spilled red wine from between her bosom with a handkerchief before it stained her cream colored bodice. Alistair licked his lips as he watched.

“Mm, well if you keep playing with your… er… _chest_ that way I’m sure I’ll be positively _throbbing_.”

 

\----------

 

It was approaching that time in the night.

Noble men and women alike shuffled and stumbled over themselves as they made for the doors, emotions railing erratic – some sobbing helplessly, some laughing so hard they couldn’t stand, some angry and ranting, most a combination therein. Alistair sat slouching on chair, far removed from the throne that sat next to that of his wife, who had disappeared sometime earlier in the night, undoubtedly with some rakish fool enamored with her title and her tits. A goblet dangled in the first two fingers of his right hand and his temple rested on the fist of his left, eyes fixed lazily on the object of his desire.

Vada was across the Court, helping his uncle collect the drunkards in expensive finery and sweep them out into the night. If he knew her at all then she wouldn’t allow her own intoxication to show until the last of them had been extricated or helplessly passed out, left to clean up their dignity and slip out early in the morning.

He smiled to himself when the doors of the main hall were closed and bolted shut for the night and she flung herself against them, raking delicate fingers through her dark auburn curls and pulling out the pins that held them in a pile on her head, one by one.

The way she walked to him, shaking out the unending curls to bounce on her shoulders and chest, taking long, dragging steps of exhaustion and inebriation, her eyes cloudy and lidded and fixed on him made him harden in his pants all over again. The whole night had been a cock tease, in fact; his groin ached from it.

He shifted, sliding down further in his chair and spread his legs wider. With a devilish smirk he took a last sip of his wine and dropped the cup on the floor next to him, uninterested in the noise or the mess. Teagan hadn’t even left the room and Alistair was rubbing himself through his trousers, eyes burning.

Vada stopped, hand frozen in her hair, and watched his hand slide down his stomach and curl around his visible erection; she watched him rub himself, moaning in his throat, staring at her. A fallen nobleman snorted and shifted, hidden somewhere behind her in the room, but Alistair was… oblivious. He pulled the waist of his trousers away from his stomach and slid his hand underneath, hissing and thrusting his hips hard enough that his bottom left the chair.

“Come here.” Vada stood still, brushed her wild hair back from her face, and swallowed, poking nervously at her bodice. Alistair laughed, but in that moment it sounded sinister. “Don’t be so surprised, my love,” he said softly, voice straining. “I’ve been hard on and off all night… _Maker’s balls_ I’m so fucking horny right now.” He pulled himself from his trousers and stroked himself openly, sweat beading on his forehead and above his lip. His head fell back and he groaned aloud, unabashed. Vada licked her lips… Andraste’s holy socks he was _so hard_ , the engorged head wet and purple.

“Come here,” he begged again, voice soft with desperation. Vada went to him and knelt without another word; he leaned forward and kissed her, a wet, rolling, sucking kiss marked by the squelching of his masturbation between them. “I love you,” he whispered shakily, “so much… I love you so much.” He repeated it over and over, chanting it between their kisses. They only stopped kissing when his hips rose so high the tip of his head left a trail of moisture over her chest.

Vada smiled. She broke off their kisses with a nip to his swollen bottom lip and pushed him back into the chair. He moaned, transfixed by the sight her face hovering just behind the hand pumping his cock. She licked her pink, swollen lips and then licked a trail up the vein bulging on the underside of his cock, a deep breath hissing through his gritted teeth.

When her lips engulfed his cock and she took him balls-deep into her throat, lucid thought caved to murmurs and whimpers, and one long, loud moan as she sucked him all the way back up. The white-knuckle vice grip he had on the wooden arms of the chair was the only thing stopping his hands from fisting into her hair and holding her in place while he fucked her face to completion, the wood creaking under the strain.

Her tongue did shocking things while her head bobbed up and down, eyes fixed on his and hands slipping up under his shirt and fingering his tender nipples. He arced and shivered pathetically, a pitiful, writhing mess in her hands. He shook, his whole body trembled with the effort of restraint, but that mouth was… was…

“Ohh _fuuck ’mcomingVada…”_

He whined, hissing and keening even as the loud crack startled her, so much that she almost pulled her face away; she kept sucking as he swelled, stroked her tongue over the very tip as warm, thick come poured out, a salty mouth full that she swallowed and cleaned from his cock. She didn’t stop licking and sucking until he jerked, sensitive to painful at her touch.

As he came down from the high he followed her eyes to his hands, two fistfuls of wooden chair arms successfully torn from their chair. His belly shook with mirth, laughter loud and raucous in the open, echoing hall. “I’d take it as a compliment,” he grinned, tossing them to his sides with a dull clatter.

Vada laughed, just setting back on her haunches when Alistair stood and swooped upon her, scooping her up by the waist and tossing her over his shoulder, the _crack_ of a swift slap to her bottom echoing with her screams and his laughter.

“Be a good girl and let a royal bastard pay his dues.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a ficlet written for RissyJames of the CMDA group for the mid-year Secret Santa Fic Exchange.


End file.
